


The Devil Looks Out For His Own

by Joss_Teagan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Betrayal, Body Worship, Crimes & Criminals, Death, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Espionage, Hate Sex, Hatred, Hero Worship, Kissing, Love, Loyalty, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Masturbation, Murder, Obsession, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Riding, Romance, Rough Sex, Roughness, Sacrifice, Scotland Yard, Secrets, Slow Burn, Snogging, Threats, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joss_Teagan/pseuds/Joss_Teagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't chance that threw Sherlock and John together that day in Bart's- it was Moriarty. A loyal employee of Jim's, John is sent to befriend Sherlock. But will the detective be fooled by John's charm? And how will John make sure he doesn't go the way of countless others, in love with a cold, emotionless man who can never love them back? Hearts will break before they burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misery Loves Company

**Author's Note:**

> Characters aren't mine, just playing with them. Comment/subscribe/bookmark/kudos and I'll love you forvever. More chapters to come.
> 
> Ok, this fic i set when John was invalided home from Afghanistan. He hasn't met Sherlock yet. But Sherlock's coming, don't you worry.

John was choking down another mouthful of lager, considering his situation. He used to enjoy alcohol as much as the next man would, but seeing his sister ruin her life all the name of the next drink had made him wary of the stuff. He grimaced, cheap booze in an unfriendly pub was the best he could afford.

"You look like you're drinking poison. "

John scowled, looked at the man who'd slipped onto the bar stool adjacent to his. "This stuff's so bad, it might as well be," when the man laughed, John added "In fact I think I'd rather down a glass of cyanide. Would have more of a kick."

"You know, you're funny. The obvious poison to mention is arsenic, it's like everyone knows that one. But cyanide, that's good," The man rapped his knuckles on the bar to signal a drink, not taking his eyes off John. "Sparkling cyanide."

"Is that what you're ordering?" the barman joked and the man took his eyes off John to speak to the bartender. John went back to his drink, but soon the man was talking to him again. John wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the man, with his muscular build and craggy face seemed like the type who wouldn't appreciate that.

"So, if the drink isn't that good, why are you here?" He surveyed John over his glass, green eyes amused but watchful all the same. John didn't see any reason to lie.

"Got no money. No prospects. Bit hopeless, really."

"Oh yeah? What _were_ you doing?"

"I was in the army. A captain, respected. One bullet to the shoulder, then I'm sent home with an honourable discharge. I've been here a few months. Feels longer." John glowered down at his glass as if it had been responsible for his unemployment. "It was a real kick in the teeth, you know?"

"Absolutely. I was kicked out too."

"You were in the army?"

"Yeah. Oh that's stupid, haven't properly introduced myself," He drew himself up to his full height, which had to be six foot three at minimum. "Colonel Sebastian Moran." They shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you, Colonel. I'm Captain John Watson. I was a doctor."

" A doctor, really? Could be useful. You know…" Moran took a slow sip of his beer. "My boss could do with a man like you working for him. I could show you the ropes, it wouldn't be a bother, after all, we're the same. Two good soldiers, stopped before we could become great, kicked out by Her Majesty's armed forces, cut down in our prime. This thing could work."

"Did you receive an honourable discharge too?"

"What I received was a metaphorical jackboot up my arse, that's what I received. But Watson, I realised I didn't have to stop and grow fat and stupid just because I wasn't a soldier anymore. There are still challenges, people to fight, battlefields. You and me, we're meant to be out there in the thick of it, not drinking this fucking _bleach_ while our brains rot."

"Why do I get the impression that what you're suggesting isn't…exactly legal?" John slowly said.

"Semantics, John. We got screwed over by the government and nobody helped us. I suppose you're paying for your drinks tonight with some of your pitiful army pension. Well, if you decide you want to start living again, call me."

"You've giving me your number?" John frowned when Sebastian slid the scrap of paper across, bearing his scrawled name and number.

"One of many. I have a few phones."

"And how do you know I'll call? In fact, how do you know I won't inform the police about you?"

Sebastian smiled and shook his head, not looking at all bothered. "Because you haven't felt this alive in a good while." He slung a few bank notes on the counter. "There. Should be enough for the rest of your drinks tonight. Goodbye, John." And he strode away, not looking back.

***

When John got home, although he had no intentions of ringing that number, for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to throw that paper away. He managed eight days until he dialled the number with shaking fingers.

"Yeah?" Sebastian's groggy, sleep-roughened voice was suspicious.

"Sebastian? It's John. John Watson…any chance that that job offer's still going?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is introduced to the man who will change his life forever. Jim Moriarty.

“So can you tell me anything about your boss?” John predicted the answer before Sebastian spoke.

“Not a lot, I’m afraid, privacy’s really the name of the game here. Discretion. But I suppose I could tell a few things, just vague stuff, stuff that won’t compromise my place working for him.”

John and Sebastian were walking, weaving their way through the steady stream of tourists. Sebastian was going to be introducing John to his employer soon, in a café. Seemed an odd place for a job interview, but John wasn’t going to question it. Sebastian looked relaxed in a T-shirt and khaki slacks, but John was fidgeting in his suit, pulling at the collar nervously.

“My boss picked me out years ago, saw potential in me. You know what we do isn’t strictly _legal,_ ” Sebastian mouthed the last word. “but it pays well. Sounds callous but he gets us, you know? He has a talent for just unleashing a person’s strengths, just through the way that he speaks to you. And he’s smart. Proper genius. I believe he could lead the country.”

“He sounds…impressive. Any, ahem, anything else I should know about? Any reasons why I might _not_ like working for him?”

He saw Sebastian was grinning at him. “Nice. Very subtle. He’s no angel, he’s got quite a temper on him. When Jim gets mad, bad things happen. But if you just do your job and don’t provoke him, you’ll be fine. It’s hard to find loyal people, so if you stick by him, he’ll make it worth it.”

“Ok, doesn’t sound too bad. I’ve been yelled at by drill sergeants , I can handle his temper.”

“If you say so,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “You survive the first week, he might just like you.”

They’d stopped by a café. To John’s surprise, it looked completely deserted, peeling paint and scrawled graffiti adorned the walls, and was filthy, the windows thick with grime and dust. John followed Sebastian, nervously glancing up at the pigeons nesting on the dirt awning.

“Horrible beasts,” Sebastian said. “I’ve gone up to the country before, shot pheasants. It’s a proper sport. Now they’re magnificent creatures. These little shits though, look at ‘em, hovering up there eyeballing us- you ever seen _The Birds_ , John?”

“Of course,”

“Great. You and me, we’ll have to kick back sometime, a six pack of Special Brew, watch some classic Hitchcock films. It’ll be fun,” Sebastian looked slyly at John from the corner of his eye. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

“No.” John lied.

“Hm. Well…you should be.”

Sebastian hauled open the door, a large glass sheet that was almost opaque due to the dirt and dust.

“Why do we have to meet him here?”

“He’s a busy man. If he says for us to meet him here, we meet him here.”  
They walked through the abandoned restaurant, treading softly on the thick carpet of dust. Now that John studied it, he could see footprints in the dust, and wondered if this place actually served as a base for- whatever _Jim_ did.

John was expecting them to halt by one of the large round tables but instead, Sebastian lead him past the seating, and through a swinging door to the kitchen.

“Moriarty, I got John-”

“Shout any louder, Sebby, the whole street will hear you!” a voice called back. Sebastian rushed to the speaker, John at his heels, and John got his first look of his potential new boss.

It hadn’t occurred to John before to ask what Jim’s surname was, which was ridiculous because he could hardly address an employer by their first name. Perhaps Sebastian wouldn’t have told him though, it might have been sensitive information. Whatever John was expecting when he had first heard of Sebastian’s boss, it hadn’t been the pallid beanpole coolly leaning against a counter and smoking a cigarette. John cast a doubtful eye over the porridge-coloured complexion and hangdog face, and felt a little cheated.

“Jim, John Watson. John, I give you- Jim Moriarty.” Sebastian wore the expression of a proud child presenting their parent with a sticky drawing. John nodded and smiled awkwardly, a smile that Jim didn’t return. Jim looked him up and down, made a noise like “Hrurr” under his breath, and turned to stub his cigarette against the counter.

Sebastian was no help, raising his eyebrows in confusion at Jim’s apathy, and a silence settled over the trio, as thick and heavy as the dust coating the floor. John actually jumped when a sound broke the silence, a muffled moan that went on and on, a sound of pain and fear. Jim sighed, bending down to drag something out of the dark, cavernous space underneath the worktop. John supposed it used to house some sort of machine, a dish washer or dryer.

He couldn’t see what Jim was hauling out of the darkness, but he was made aware of how slim Jim was, his suit tight-fitting, but deliberately so, the suit jacket ending just above his waist, so John was treated to a view of his shapely arse as he bent. Immediately, John felt guilty, and not just because he was ogling his prospective employer. John wasn’t sure when he had first become aware of his interest in men, but it had been quickly followed by a determination to keep that side of himself hidden, at least to his family. His parents were distressed enough by having one gay child, he couldn’t bear himself to be a concern for their outdated views as well.

Jim sidestepped the bulky mass on the floor to give them a better view of it. To John’s horror, he realised it was a man, a portly, balding man shivering and sniffling on the floor. Sebastian didn’t look surprised, his hand twitched at his waist, reminding of himself, reaching for a phantom gun. Although Sebastian was most probably armed.

“John, I’m sure Seb wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t think you had bottle, and I’ve learnt to trust his judgement, to some degree,” John hadn’t realised he was Irish, when he first spoke. “And I’m sure this all looks very odd to you, but this is what we do. I don’t want you under any allusions. I do what I have to do, whatever it takes. And Seb- he does whatever I tell him to.”

“And- and what’s that man done to you?” John said, trying to keep his voice even as he gestured to the man trembling on the ground. He resisted the flinch his body was forcing on him as murky brown eyes fixed on him, staring unblinkingly. He felt like that cold gaze was shooting forth icicles that pierced his chest, to glimpse at the muscle and gristle glistening wetly underneath.

“He decided he was desperate enough to request my services, but confident enough not to pay me when the time came. I’m just taking my…pound of flesh,” Jim’s foot snaked around the man’s tied arms, a shiny black brogue resting on the turgid, barrel-like chest. Jim pressed harder with his foot and the man whimpered. “Even if his flesh is _repugnant._ ”

“You’re going to k-kill him just because he didn’t pay up?”

“I’m not going to kill him. You are.”

John’s shock must have registered on his face because Jim hooted with laughter and Sebastian laid a hand on his back, a reassuring gesture. Poor Sebastian, he could have been a good friend. How had he ended up in this job? Sebastian was bitter and had obviously made some mistakes, but John was sure he could have found a more reputable job if he’d tried harder.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t do it,” John’s eyes rolled like marbles as he searched the room, wishing he could see a convenient kitchen knife or even a blunt section of pipe to use to defend himself. Sebastian was standing square in the doorway, probably under orders not to let John through. John had seen too much. Jim would never let him go now.

“That’s a shame, John, because someone’s dying tonight. Certainly, this whiskery piece of filth was never concerned with causing harm when he raped his ex-girlfriend,”

John stopped dead, seeing the snivelling, hog-tied heap on the floor with an altered perspective. Jim’s voice had seemed nasal and reedy when he had first spoken, but now his voice took on a smooth, velvety purr, speaking bitter, scalding words in the manner of an actor advertising some designer luxury.

“He beat her until she bled, then tore her open with his stubby, sweating penis,” Jim continued silkily, straightening his midnight-blue tie. John thought distractedly that it complemented his navy suit rather well.  Jim withdrew an item from a smart black case, pressing the cool object into John’s hands. John gripped the familiar thing, his index finger caressing the trigger, the cool metal of the gun blessedly cold against his hot palm. He tried to formulate some response, some brilliant, concise argument that could allow him to walk out of here with his freedom and his life, but Jim slipped past him to stand behind him, delicate, pale hands grabbing John’s shoulder, then slipping down to wrists and then finally his hands. John couldn’t have dropped the gun even if he wanted to. Jim’s hands were cool and soft on his own, a slight pressure of Jim’s body against his back. John swallowed, feeling beads of sweat roll down his forehead, and he tried to step back but only succeed in making Jim press flush against him, the slim body moulding against his own. The excitement of having a gun, pointing it, aiming, knowing he could shoot, was heady. He couldn’t do any clever move of turning around to threaten Jim with it because there was no room to move. And Jim knew that. Whatever happened, it would be in Jim’s favour.

Cold lips drifted over John’s ear, whispering “ _He came back for her daughter…_ ”

And John pulled the trigger. The effects were instantaneous; the man sagged, going limp, blood spurting from his chest. Jim released John, patting him gently on the back, and John stumbled to the sink, certain he was going to vomit. He retched but only phlegm and water came out, and his legs buckled as he gripped the sink tightly.

“Seb, clean this up. Johnny boy, you did well. Welcome to the team.” Thankfully, Jim didn’t try to shake his hand. John closed his eyes as he heard grunts and scraping sounds, Sebastian disposing of the empty shell of a man. John had killed a man, not an innocent man, but he had committed murder, _as a civilian._

He felt the air shift as Jim stood by him, and he turned away. Jim sighed, and told Sebastian to call a cab for John. John ran his hands under the taps, wishing he could somehow wash away the shame he felt.

“You were just doing your job, Johnny,” Jim whispered to him before slipping out of the room. John didn’t look around until Jim was long gone and the corpse was removed, and when Sebastian rode back with him in the cab, John remained stony-faced and silent. When he tossed and turned in his hard, lumpy bed that night, he wasn’t sure if it was due to the horror of the night or the spike of sweet adrenaline he’d felt as he’d took a life.

 


	3. Shopping With Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John runs into someone while stocking up on groceries. Surprise!

For days afterwards, John's post-war paranoia was greatly heightened. Every shadow was Sebastian Moran, waiting to grab John and snap his neck, every dark-haired suited commuter was Jim Moriarty slyly slinking along, tracking John's every step. But neither Moriarty nor the faceless members of his clandestine criminal gang confronted John, although John wasn't foolish enough to think they were just going to let him go. He breathed a little easier but still wasn't surprised to 'accidentally' bump into Sebastian, in Sainsbury's of all places.

"Nice to see you again, John," Sebastian said, picking a packet of cigarettes off a shelf. He didn't have a basket and John was ninety-nine per cent certain that Sebastian wasn't in here to shop. But it was a smart move; John could hardly cause a scene in a crowded supermarket.

"You shouldn't smoke those things. They'll kill you," John told him, and sure enough, the packet bore the rather obvious warning- 'Smoking Kills' in clear black letters. Sebastian shrugged and tossed the packet in John's basket.

"Everyone dies eventually. Get that for me, will you? I'll give you the money."

"And," Sebastian said as John lingered over fabric softener, a few aisles down. "I _have_ got the money to pay you- Jim pays well, did you know that?"

"I'm sure you told me before. But I'm not interested. If he's sent you here to kill me-" John abruptly stopped speaking as an elderly lady approached him, asking where the toilet rolls were. After directing her to the right aisle, John continued speaking . "-go ahead and kill me. But I'm not joining you or your boss's shitty club."

"Careful, John, talk like that can earn you more than a slap on the wrist. Jim doesn't like to be insulted. But he's a reasonable man, and he thinks you're worth a chance with us. I'm not here to kill you, John. I'm here to recruit you."

John stared at him, oblivious of the shoppers squeezing past him in the narrow aisle. "You must be insane. What he made me do-"

"-proved your worth. It was your initiation, and you passed! You don't have to do- what you did. You could help people."

"H-how?"

"You're a doctor, right, a damn good one, I reckon. When we get into scrapes, we could do with a good doctor to patch us up. You could do that. You would be saving lives,"

Someone tutted, trying to move past John and Sebastian, hauling a shopping basket and toddler in tow. John didn't even notice.

"Think about it," Sebastian said, his eyes burning into John's. "Just consider it."

"I must be mad but- ok. I know I'm going to end up regretting this, and it could get me killed, but if I don't do this, I'll end up shooting myself in the head anyway, one of these days."

"Attaboy," Sebastian said with a hearty thump to John's back. "The boss will be delighted. I'll take you to get acquainted with Jim later in the week- he's asked me to be the one to show you how we do things, explain his work a little bit more…"

"Wait, he knew I was going to say yes? How could he possibly know something like that?"

"John, when you've been with us for a while, you won't be surprised if Jim recites your PIN number, height and name of your favourite childhood toy, all from memory. He's cleverer than the rest of us but that doesn't mean we're disposable to him. You'll see it, soon enough. Ever since the war, you've been looking for a cause- well, John, this is it."

Sebastian didn't give John time to consider this, he simply turned around and walked away. He didn't bother trying to slide through gaps in the mass of busy shoppers, his broad shoulders and steel-toed boots helped him push his way through the crowd, no problem at all. Looking at his disappearing figure, John felt a sudden pang in his stomach, the realisation that he was now just another civilian, not someone to respect and take notice of, like Sebastian Moran. But soon he would be, he thought with a fierce rush of pride. Soon he would be needed and respected, given a purpose again, able to pursue his true love, helping people get better, fixing people. And if it wasn't the most honest way to do it, then who cares? He'd tried to be a decent man, and all it got him was an army pension and unwanted solitude. From now on, his life would matter and it was this thought that propelled him through his shopping, with a smile on his face.


	4. Jim's Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a new job for John, and he's not taking no for an answer. Sebastian's worried, John's confused and Jim won't eat his dinner. Oh, and he wants to use John to destroy Sherlock. Business as usual, then.

What surprised John was how easy it was to work for Jim. Jim had kept his word, John wasn’t asked to kill again, instead, he was saving lives. Even if they were the lives of the various thieves, assassins and bodyguards in Jim’s employ.

He worked mainly alone, although recently, a young woman had been assisting him. Daisy was a nice enough girl and if John had been a few years younger, he might have thought he stood a chance with her, but she was smart and friendly, and besides, it was good to have company.

Every day was different, sometimes, he’d be picking out bullets, other times, he’d be administering shots to employees who were going abroad for Jim’s work. John remembered the first time he worked on Sebastian.

“Ow, ow, ow! FUCK!” Sebastian rolled his neck, which gave an ominous crack. “Uhhh, fuck, shit, you, you bastard…”

“If I’m such a bastard, how about I leave this cut to get infected?”

“Oh, shut up, I’m just…uh.”

“Look, how about I do it as fast as I can, and then you can go, ok?”

And from then, Sebastian would drop in to see John, when Seb wasn’t busy.

 

Sometimes, John would be working with Daisy in a set of rooms Jim had bought, especially bought for this purpose, but sometimes he’d be instructed to be in a certain area, at a specific team. Although Jim rarely did physical work for his operations, on the occasions he did, he’d come to John when in need of treatment.

“So, John boy, I was getting information from a nice gentleman earlier, and he chose to _bite_ me.”

Or “Johnny, I’m going to need to go to Morocco, don’t ask. What shots will I need?”

John had completely erased his first impression of Jim Moriarty. The man wasn’t weedy and camp, he was brilliant. Clever and funny, he knew the exact flaws and strengths of everyone he encountered. And he made John feel like what he was doing mattered.

Sebastian felt the same. It had shocked John when once, Jim had congratulated Sebastian on a job well done, and patted him on the head. Like a dog. The goofy, sycophantic expression Sebastian had worn sickened John, a bit. He found it worrying that he most likely wore the same expression when Jim praised him.

But it was hard to be negative about a job that paid well, got him to meet new people and challenge himself, and even make a friend. John wasn’t sure if he could call _Jim_ a friend but he liked Sebastian’s company and the two would sometimes go for a drink or a meal, and on one memorable occasion, a rugby match. Sebastian had punched a rival fan on the nose. John had had to drag Seb away.

 

One night, John was at home, in his flat. He’d been in a measly bedsit, but with the wage Jim gave him, he’d upgraded. It was miles away from the luxury Jim lived in, but it suited John’s needs perfectly. He was planning to microwave a ready meal, but for the moment, he was channel-hopping on the television. He was just settling down to watch a game show he’d recorded earlier, when there was a loud knocking at his door. John glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall. It was nine at night; this couldn’t be a social call. He quickly picked up his trusty Browning (since joining Jim’s forces, he never liked to be unarmed) and he went to answer the door.

“Johnny!” Jim beamed, his smile as wide as the host of the game show John had been watching. “We brought take-out!”

Sebastian, standing on the front path, (there wasn’t enough space for both him and Jim to stand on the doorstep) nodded to him and waved a white paper bag, like a flag.

“Dim Sum!” Seb said grinned, although the smile didn’t meet his eyes.

“Can we come in?” Jim cooed, straightening his tie.

“Uh, sure…” John said uncertainly, and stood back to let them in. He could hardly say no, could he?

Seb dumped the bag on the sofa, while Jim prowled around the living room. If John had ever felt self-conscious around Jim Moriarty, he’d never felt like this. He wasn’t a slob, and his current living quarters were far better than what he would have been able to afford on an army pension, but seeing Jim here in a black-pinstriped suit and white tie, looking like a Calvin Klein model, John felt horribly bland by comparison.

“Nice place you’ve got,” Jim said, picking up a framed photograph of Harry and examining it. Seb grimaced at John in an understanding way.

“Er, thanks, boss-” John said.

Jim smiled again. For some reason, it always seemed to cheer him up when John called him that. Probably because John didn’t do it often.

“We should probably make a start on the food, it’ll get cold. Come on, Sebby, shake a leg!”

Seb looked nonplussed, but he sat on the sofa as John ran to get plates. When John returned, Jim was sat in the single armchair.

John distributed the food between them, but neither of his guests were that hungry. Seb picked at his food, with his eyes downcast, while Jim tapped his foot on the carpet, ate a few forkfuls of rice and then seemed to tire of dining.

“So, John, I was going to wait until after you boys had eaten, but I’m just too excited! I’m promoting you!”

John paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re- uh, I wasn’t aware we did things like that…” As he said it, he wasn’t as certain as he thought. It was always clear that Sebastian was Jim’s unofficial right-hand man, which wasn’t a questionable choice as Seb had always proved himself to be capable, at least from what John had seen. But he was a doctor, he patched up Jim’s allies, workers and men Jim needed to keep alive long enough to talk to. John was aware he was outside the normal hierarchy of Jim’s men. If he asked for something, more supplies, more space to work in, more funds, he got it. He didn’t take advantage of it though, he only asked for what he needed for work. Maybe this was why Jim was promoting him.

“You’ve barely touched your food, Sebastian,” Jim said sharply, staring at Sebastian’s almost full plate. Seb glanced at him and began to shovel in forkfuls of chicken.

“You’ve really impressed me, John. Your attitude, your abilities. I think you could go far…under my direction of course.” Jim patted his mouth with a serviette. “I think there could be more for you than patching up my friends.”

“I- I really enjoy working for you, Jim,” John said tentatively. “How exactly would my workload change?”

“Oh, doctor, you’re so cautious! It’s sweet!  It’s a great job, honestly, you’ll love it. Have you finished your food? Good. Basically, some busybody has been disrupting what we do here.” Jim reached across and his fingers lightly closed around John’s wrists. His hand was warm but John shivered. Jim was always very tactile, brushing lint off John’s jacket, ruffling Seb’s hair. It wasn’t an unexpected gesture but John’s insides quivered all the same. There was something about Jim that just made him react. His beloved boss’ handsome face, but also the darkness in his eyes- it reminded him how dangerous Jim really was. It made him glad they were on the same side.

“That’s terrible. Who is it, a police officer, a journalist, a new detective inspector looking to assert himself amongst his colleagues?” Jim had dealt with such people before.

“True, they are concerns for us. But it’s someone…different. Fresh blood. Frankly, I’ve never heard of anyone like him. And that intrigues me.”

Seb and John’s eyes met over Jim’s shoulder. John read the distress in Seb’s gaze and expected it mirrored his own. Was it possible that he was jealous? And Seb was too? The sound in Jim’s voice, the quiet wonder lacing his words, it made John’s fist clench. He suddenly felt small and insignificant. He wanted to grab Jim by the lapels and crush him to his chest. But that would be remarkably foolish.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much of a threat is he?” John asked, trying to sound calm. He didn’t want to sound uninterested because he was invested in this, but he hoped Jim wouldn’t pick up on his petty jealousy.

“Forget everything you know about dealing with our enemies. Forget bribery- there’s nothing he wants, only answers. Forget blackmail- I’ve had my hackers look him up, there’s nothing on him except records of drug use, and he doesn’t hide that. No sex scandals, no covered-up hit and runs, DUIs, nothing unaccounted for. And I can’t kidnap anyone close to him because NO ONE is close to him. He’s got a brother, but that man’s even more untouchable than he is.” Jim raked a hand through his hair.  A few strands stood up, and without thinking, John stroked Jim’s hair back down. As soon as he’d done it, he drew back, horrified, an apology on his lips, but Jim smiled, and shrugged, indicating he wasn’t bothered.

“John, I’ve never encountered someone like this. I’m floored. But I have something he doesn’t have. I have you. And Seb.” Jim smiled winningly at John, and Seb looked awkward. Jim had never expressed this much sentiment, this man must be a real threat, John reckoned.

“If I could just get close to him, I could find out a way to stop him. He doesn’t respect people like us, John. People who know what it is to struggle. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’s got a trust fund and his family are flush. He doesn’t respect anyone- if he met you, he’d dismiss you as unimportant within seconds, he treats people like he’s doing them a favour by simply being in their presence. And now, he’s getting bolder, and one of these days, he’s going to stumble on what we’ve got going here. And one of these days, I’m going to lose my life’s work.”

John seized Jim’s hand. “What can we do to stop him?”

Jim’s mouth twitched, but he lowered his head, watching John through his lashes. “If we had someone who could get close to him, someone who works for me but not directly, someone who’s removed from the day-to-day running of my operations, he could get information and I would be… _very_ grateful.”

John’s mouth went dry. Either from excitement or apprehension about what Jim was suggesting. Or from something entirely different. “You want me to get information?”

“Yes. It would be dangerous, no question. I’ve received word that he’s looking for a flatmate. This would be _perfect_ , you could pose as a potential flatmate, you would move in, and then you could find out as much as you wanted. He wouldn’t suspect a thing. His papers are moved? You were just dusting! You see? He’s arrogant, he thinks everyone’s beneath him. His arrogance will be his downfall, because he’ll be sure to underestimate you.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a private detective of some sort. I’m looking into it. But he’s got some influence in Scotland Yard, they call him in to help on cases sometimes.”

John floundered, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a few seconds as he tried to compose his thoughts. “A private detective? You want me to spy, to _live with_ , a private detective?” This was insane, he couldn’t seriously say yes...

“John, I’m not a begging man. But I’m in a fix, and I trust you. You’re the only one who can help me. Please?” Jim’s eyes were large and pleading, and John swallowed against the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

“Ok, boss, I’ll do it. For you. It’s the least I can do, you’ve given me so much.”

“Thanks, John.” Jim said softly.

 

When the plates were in the dishwasher and the wrappers were in the bin, Moriarty thanked John again for accepting his offer and said he’d be in touch soon. There was an awkward moment when Jim left the flat, leaving Seb and John standing in the silence.

“So,” Seb said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “You’re really gonna do it.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Jim doesn’t pay me to think. I get why you have to do this but…stay safe, ok?” Seb pulled John into a bear hug, and John gasped for air.

“I’ll be fine. Still don’t know why he wants me to do it and not you.”

Seb looked at him thoughtfully, then slouched against the front door. “You know, when I first started working for Jim, I didn’t like him. I didn’t _trust_ him. I liked the money. I’d look at him and I’d think to myself that he just looked sort of…I don’t know, hollow. Kind of dead in the eyes. But I got to know him and I liked him. But then, one day, I’d come back from a job for him, and I’d had to use my gun. Multiple times,”

John wondered where Seb was taking this, but he wisely stayed silent.

“And I looked in the mirror, and I realised I looked dead in the eyes too. I didn’t look like that before, I don’t think. But I look at you, and you don’t look like that, yet.” Sebastian broke off to cough. “Whatever. Just look after yourself, ok?”

“You’re a good mate, Sebastian.”

“Yeah, ta. You too.”

Sebastian went.

 


End file.
